The Deep Blue
by shinyyellowtransporter
Summary: [AU - OUaT/Firefly - Femslash; Swan Queen. Sci-fi; no magic] Family. Strange, the lengths folk will go for such a small word. Always seemed foolish to Mal. But now here he is, flying across half the galaxy, strangers on board his ship, in danger (again) and all because of that one word. And, oh yeah, the creepy kid says they're being chased by an Evil Queen. Shiny. Just shiny.
1. Part 1 - Chapter 1

[**Disclaimer** - Setting and characters belong to their respective owners; I own nothing, please don't sue me.]

**AU** - Obviously, this being set in space, we can say screw you and good riddance to all OUaT canon. As for Firefly, this story takes place a few months after the series (i.e. the Big Damn Movie didn't happen).

* * *

**The Deep Blue**

**Part 1: Serenity**

**Chapter 1 -**

_**ain't misbehavin' - pin the tail - déjà what-now? - two for the price of one**_

All in all, it ended up working out just about how everyone but him had expected it to.

Badly.

Although, in his defence, nobody could've predicted the gorram donkey.

* * *

So this was his plan; they'd be good. No misbehavin', just traveling quiet-like, flying world to world, and using the ship for the reason she'd been made: transport. Anything anyone would pay 'em for, they'd haul. Only condition was, it had to be legal. Honest pay for honest work.

It was perfect.

Until someone screwed it all to hell.

* * *

"_Zaogao!_ Son of a gorram - _Wash!_"

_Go for it,_ he'd said. _It'll be fine, Mal,_ he'd said. _What's one donkey after a whole herd of cattle?_ Sha gwa. Stupid ass had got 'em a whole heap of trouble landed onto theirs. And now here they are being chased through the sky by a bunch of _he chusheng zajiao de zanghuo_ and the perfect, flawless, _simple_ plan is deader than Wash is gonna be if he doesn't get them out of the gorram mess he made.

"Zao ni de xing."

"Hey! Don't blame me." Wash turns around sharply, controls still in hand, sends the Serenity tilting heavily to one side. "You were the one supposed to be a farmer, I never-"

The ship shudders, jerks upwards, and Mal stumbles forward, just manages to stop himself falling face first into the avionics bay, and instead goes down hard on one knee. "Ai ya! Hwai leh!"

"Sorry."

"No you ain't," Mal says, and he heaves himself up as the ship levels out, limps heavily to his chair and sits, rubs gingerly at his knee. "You trying to kill us all?"

Wash waves vaguely, doesn't look over. "Like I was saying, not my fault you were a lousy farmer."

"No I wasn't. Was raised on a farm."

"So? Jayne was raised by humans, that don't make him one."

Mal thinks for a moment; concedes the point. "Still, you got us into this mess, you can get us out."

"It was branded!" Wash yells. "The donkey was branded! And you're the only one on this ship who shoulda' known what one of those looks like."

"He's right, y'know. It's all your fault."

Mal turns around, glares at Zoe as she steps onto the bridge, Jayne at her heels. "Hey, who is it that pays you?" he asks. "You two keep this up, you can get your own gorram ship."

"Fine by me, Sir," she says, walking over to Wash and resting her hands on his shoulders. "Captain Zoe's got kind of a ring to it."

"Oh, bizui," Mal snaps, turning away and flicking the screen to life on his console. The grainy picture shows nothing but clear blue sky at first, then two sleek black shuttles dart across, one after the other. "Thought we'd lost 'em."

Jayne comes over, leans across the console and squints at the screen. "We gonna die?" he asks.

"Surely hope not."

"We should land," he says, stepping back and peering up at the view; cobalt sky high above the dirty, rolling terrain Three Hills is known for. Known for crime, as well, Mal thinks. Maybe not the best world to come to when you're trying to be good. Ain't hindsight a wonder?

"Land?" Mal asks. "Why would we do that?"

"So we can let 'em on board," Jayne says slowly, like Mal's missing a few gears, "and we can kill 'em."

"_No._"

"Mal, I ain't shot no-one in months."

"Good! That was the whole point of the gorram plan."

"Ruttin' stupid plan, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you. And it wasn't. Was a fine plan."

"Yeah, 'til you went and brung that damn ass on board."

"You carry on like that, I'll be throwing your's off," Mal says, standing up. "You forgettin' the last time we spoke about this?"

"No." Jayne edges close, squares up to Mal. "But that was when you still had balls, and we weren't bein' captained by a yellow-bellied, hundan-"

"Duh liou mahng." Mal surges forward, takes a swing at Jayne's head, and just as his fist is about to connect, the ship nose-dives, and Jayne falls into him, sending them both sprawling onto the console.

Mal shoves Jayne away, looks over at Wash, Zoe trying not to smile, and rights himself. "What in the gorram..."

"Sorry, Mal," Wash says. "Don't know what happened. Hands must've slipped."

"Shi ma? You ain't careful, my hands will slip right around your gorramed throat."

"Might not want to do that, Sir," Zoe says, stepping in between them. "Since, while you two were comparing sizes, Wash here was losing our tail."

"He what?" Mal looks out at the view and instead of blue sees green, a forest of pine stretched out in front and below them. He checks the screen and their rear view is clear, just a faint streamer of smoke rising from the trees. "They're gone?"

"They are. Might want to consider a thank you," she says, in a tone that suggests he ought to do more than just consider. Grovel, maybe.

But then, who's the gorram Captain of this ship?

"Could've killed us all," he says, but Zoe cocks an eyebrow, so; "Fine. Good job, Wash."

"Still say we should've landed," Jayne says, pushing past Mal and sitting in the captain's seat, feet thumping up onto the console.

"Yeah, well," Mal says, rolling up his sleeves, "turns out there was no need. So we can get off this tyen-sah rock and head for the next. Got deliveries to make."

"You sure they're all legal this time, Mal?" Wash asks. "No more black market livestock?"

"Shut up and fly the gorram ship."

"I am! Who just saved our lives?"

"Don't listen to him, baby," Zoe says to Wash, combing her fingers through his hair. "He's just jealous."

"Of him? Fay hua," Mal says, and heads for the door. He spins around, stabs a finger at them. "When you all come to your gorram senses and realize you need me, I'll be in the cargo bay."

"Sure, Cap," Wash says, not even looking at him. "Have fun."

"You gorram...just get us off this damned rock," Mal orders. He leaves the bridge and heads on down the corridor, shouts back over his shoulder, "Full burn."

The sooner they're out in the black, the better. Then all they need to do is get through the rest of the day, forget it ever happened, and Mal can go back to being the one in charge and he can live a nice, peaceful life with no worries.

Well, nearly no worries.

"Mal?"

* * *

Sandalwood. Strange to think that he used to hate that smell. Hated how it got everywhere, spread even to the places it shouldn't. Couldn't even sleep properly, at first, the smell of it having seeped down into his bunk, there when he laid his head down and when he woke. And now, now he can't even imagine what the ship would be like without.

"Inara."

She smiles - bright, wide ruby lips - and peers past him at the bridge. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, shiny. 'Cept for the pilot being yi da tuo da bian," Mal says, yelling the last part back down the corridor. "How 'bout you? Turbulence didn't cause problems?"

"No," Inara says, rearranging her shawl on her shoulders. "Just some incense spilled."

Mal nods, watches the red silk slide back out of place, her pale shoulder in stark contrast to the dark, glossy curls of hair that spill over, and then the shawl is pulled back up once more.

"Mal?"

"Uh, right," he says, and steps past her, continues on down the corridor. "Glad you're fine."

"I'm sorry things didn't work out," she says, following behind him.

"Didn't go that bad," Mal says, trying not to think of the little half-moon brand on the donkey's flank that he'd somehow mistaken for a natural mark. "Plan's still intact. Still a good one."

"Mmm."

"What's that mean?" he asks, stopping at the top of the stairway leading down to the cargo bay.

"Nothing."

"No, you got a problem with my captain-in' skills, you say it."

"I don't have a problem," she says, folding her arms. "I'm just...merely curious, I suppose."

"'Bout what?"

"Why did you make that plan?" she asks, and Mal has to stop himself from shooting back a question of his own: _'Why are you still on my ship?'_

'Cause the fact is, she shouldn't be. She'd said she was leaving. Looked him right in the eye and told him so. And it ain't like she hasn't has the opportunity, either. Two dozen worlds, at least, that she could've got off at, and yet here she is, still one of his crew.

If he believed in that kind of nonsense, he might consider it some kind of miracle.

"Mal?"

"Just...seemed like the right thing to do, is all," he says, and hurries down the stairs before she can ask any more questions.

The cargo bay's half full; boxes and crates stacked together in low rows along one side, and all full of goods to be delivered safely to their next couple of stops. Aside from the mishap with the ass, Three Hills had been a fine place to find work; not as much as Mal would've liked, but enough to keep them in the air for a spell longer.

Mostly what they've got is domestic wares; things they can offload easily, and for quick coin. One of the deals he'd made was for three boxes of soup spoons; shiny silver metal hammered out into squat little Buddha's, their bellies forming the bowls. No doubt useless to eat with, and Inara will probably think them 'petty', but Mal knows that out on some of the moons where metal's hard to come by, any little novelty is greatly valued. Still, probably be wise to put those boxes out of sight, lest she start questioning his authority again.

He scans over the cargo from his place up on the catwalk and counts the crates. Leaving in such a hurry meant that he'd had to leave Jayne to square it all away, and although nothing looks damaged, something ain't quite right. He hangs over the rail slightly, peers down. It's almost like - "Huh."

Sandalwood, strong and clear at his side, and Inara's there, looking down with him. "Is something wrong?"

"You ever had a feelin' like you been somewhere before?" Mal asks.

"Like déjà vu? Many times."

Mal pulls back, blinks, and Inara smiles. "It's french," she says.

"Earth-That-Was? Folk still speak that?"

Inara rolls her eyes, sighs. "Tu me rends fou."

"_You_ speak that?"

"Of course. I am a companion, Mal," Inara says, like that's supposed to make it any clearer. She sighs again, adds, "It's the language of love."

"Huh." Mal shrugs. "Sounds like child talk to me." He waits for the eye-roll, smirks while she can't see, then hurries past, descends the stairs and starts moving the cargo.

"Something about this is familiar?" Inara says.

Mal grunts a yes, pushes a stack of wooden boxes aside. What he's after is in the middle; a big shipping crate, blue-edged and by itself, but hidden from view by all the smaller cargo stacked up in front. The crate's almost the exact same size and shape as the one that had arrived on board all those months ago, the contents of which - creepifying charm aside - had brought him nothing but trouble since the day he'd opened it.

"Problem, Sir?"

Mal looks up, sees Zoe leaning on the rail next to Inara, says, "Déjà vu."

"Oh yeah? Over what, exactly?"

"Wait," Mal says, pushing a box out of the way with his foot. "You understood that?"

"Sure. It's french."

"And how in the gorram you know that? You go to whore school, too?"

"No. Not to learn, anyway," she smiles, and Mal decides there and then that he never wants to know the meaning of that disturbing sentence. "Wash taught me some."

"Wash?"

"You implyin' my man don't have brains, sir?"

"No," Mal says, sliding another metal crate out of the way. "Guess he's smarter than he looks, though."

Zoe smirks. "Seem to recall him being smart enough not to get a poison kiss from your wife."

"Tyen-sah, she ain't my wife! And what about Inara? I ain't the only fool on this boat," he says, and Inara has the good sense to look shamed, going all rosy cheeked.

Mal moves the last of the boxes, resists the urge to kick at the big box now he can see it clear. Part of him is tempted to open the bay door and push it out, but if it is what he thinks it is..."Zoe, this look familiar to you?"

"_Ai ya_," she murmurs. "You think it's another one?"

"Seems an awful big coincidence, don't it?" he says, pulling on the latch. "It being identical to the last time."

"Sir, if it is, then maybe we shouldn't-"

Too late.

Mal lifts the lid - gentler than the last time -and steps back. If he's right, if it is the same...the smoke dissipates and he leans over the crate, and inside - he is right. Gorram it, he's right. Inside the box -

A boy stands up and screams.

* * *

**Translations** - [**A/N**: there are so many different translations/spellings out there, so, although I've cross-checked and researched, I can't verify that these are 100% accurate. If you know they're not, let me know and I'll correct them.]

zaogao - crap/damn  
Sha gwa - fool  
he chusheng zajiao de zanghuo - filthy fornicators of livestock  
zao ni de xing - fuck your family name  
Ai ya! Hwai leh! - shit on my head!  
bizui - shut up  
hundan - asshole  
duh liou mahng - s.o.b.  
shi ma? - Oh, really?  
tyen-sah - goddamn  
Fay hua - nonsense  
yi da tuo da bian - a big pile of shit  
[French] tu me rends fou - You drive me crazy  
Ai ya - damn/oh, no


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**  
_**ship of fools - BOHICA - bird in the hand**_

The boy screams until his throat gives out, the high, thin wail tailing off into a coughing fit that makes his scrawny body collapse back inside the box, and all Mal can think is, _should've pushed it out the airlock_. And that might not be the kind thing to do, but it's sure as hell the right thing, even if Inara's looking at him like she knows what he's thinking, like he's some kind of monster.

Well, might be he is, but might be that's what's kept 'em flyin' for so long.

Inara turns away, makes her way down the catwalk stairs, taking off her shawl as she goes. Zoe's already gone, no doubt to let Wash know what's happening, and, sure enough, the ship fills up with the sound of Jayne fast approaching from the bridge, his heavy boots pounding along the corridors.

Mal stands back to let Inara get to the boy, the red silk held out in front of her like some kind of offering, but as soon as she nears him the boy spooks and scrambles back, falls over the side of the box and starts crying, and all that can be seen of him is his unruly mop of brown hair, shaking from the force of his sobs. Inara bunches the shawl in her hands and turns to Mal, eyes wide and stricken. "Do something."

"Like wh-"

"Ta ma de. We got another one?"

Mal looks up; Jayne's up on the catwalk hanging so far over the rail he's liable to fall, and staring down at the boy in awe. "This your doin'?" Mal asks. "You load this box?"

Jayne stands up straight, hooks his thumbs in the top of his pants. "Well, uh...I might've," he says, shrugging. "What of it?"

"What-? _Hundan!_" Mal yells, and the boy cries louder. "You brought cargo on board without checking?"

"Well, yeah. You check everything you bring on?"

"Yes!"

"Zoe brung stuff on you ain't seen."

"She ain't a ben tian sheng de yi dui rou, you tyen-sah-"

"Mal, _enough_," Inara snaps, and Mal shuts his mouth, teeth clacking together. "He didn't know what was inside, did you?"

Jayne puffs out his chest, shakes his head. "Nuh-uh."

"You're defending him? _Him?_" Mal asks. "_Jayne?_"

"Just stop," Inara says. She sighs, twists the shawl around her fists. "Just stop and think for once."

"I am thinking," Mal says. "Thinking that someone better have a good gorram answer as to why there's another buhn dahn kid on board my boat."

And out of all the ships in the gorram galaxy? As far as Mal's concerned coincidences are the same as miracles; something only fools believe in. No, any trouble he's been in, always been because someone, somewhere was pulling strings. Thing is, he's at a complete loss. They've got no other passengers this time, not like they had with River. And at least with her they'd had her brother to calm her, let her know she was safe, and- "Zaogao. _Simon_."

Mal turns, starts to run towards the infirmary, Inara calling out "don't" behind him, but Simon's already in the bay, standing in the doorway slack-jawed. Mal marches over, grabs Simon by his shirt, the crisp white fabric crinkling under his hands, and spins him around, throws him down to the floor where he sprawls out face first, forehead bouncing off the metal with a clang.

The boy screams again but Mal ignores it, pulls Simon up by the back of his collar so he's kneeling and steps around him, stands over him with his pistol drawn. "Son-of-a-whore! Who is he? Who's the gorram boy?"

"He's-I don't- Mal," Simon says, dazed. He sways sideways, reaches up to his head and checks for blood. His fingers come away clean. Mal swats his hand back down with the gun and Simon hisses, says, "Captain-"

"No, wait, don't tell me," Mal says. "He your brother? Cousin? Or, hey now, maybe he's your ruttin' uncle." He jabs Simon's chest with the gun, thumbs the hammer back. "Who the gorram is he?"

"I don't-I don't know," Simon says. He shakes his head, holds his hands out in surrender. "Captain, I don't know who he is."

He seems truthful, for once not trying to blind with fancy talk. Mal flicks the safety back on but keeps the pistol levelled at him all the same. "He was in a box," Mal says. "That sure does sound familiar, don't it?"

"Like River?" Simon looks over at the boy then back up at Mal, stunned. "And you _opened_ it? Are you stupid?"

"Startin' to think _you_ might be," Mal says. There's many a thing you have to let go of if you want the ship to be sailing smooth, like letting the crew slack off now and again, blow off steam even if they ain't really got the time, letting them get in a little good-natured back-talk, or letting Jayne...be Jayne. But insulting and directly questioning the Captain's orders ain't one of those things. He flips his pistol over, holds it by the barrel, raises the butt. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw you off my gorram boat."

"Me. 'Cause you can throw me off, too."

_Tyen-sah_...Kaylee, always getting right where he never wants her to be, always right in the middle of any trouble. Least this time there's no gun-totin' madma- _ta mah duh_. Mal lowers his gun, holds his empty hand out to Simon to help him up but he ignores it, gazes up at Kaylee.

She comes down the catwalk stairs slow and steady, looks Mal straight in the eye. "I don't know what's goin' on, but don't you dare, Cap'n. You leave him alone."

"Listen, I-"

"No, you listen," she says. She walks over to Simon, slings his left arm over her shoulder, her right round his waist, helps him to his feet, then continues, softer, "I know it's hard when plans don't...y'know, go to plan an all," and her eyes cut across to Inara, "but you can't keep getting all angry. 'Specially at those who care, otherwise there won't be no-one left. Shi?"

Sure way to tell you've reached a new low, getting lectured by a girl in teddy bear coveralls. Mal holsters his pistol, grunts in agreement, says, "Got ourselves another River."

"_Cai bu shi_."

"Yes. A boy," Inara says, and Mal can't help but notice that she doesn't look their way.

"He's not mine," Simon says and Kaylee nods, tightens her grip on his waist. "He's, uh, eight? Nine, maybe? Underweight, so I can't quite - he needs food. And clothes. Treatment. That's why I - why I was surprised you opened the box, Captain. After River..."

"Well, nothing to be done about it now," Mal says, and something like a sigh comes from Inara, so he adds, "but, you have any suggestions, Doc, I'm all ears."

"I say we toss him out the airlock."

Mal schools his face to something approaching neutral - hopefully as far from guilty as possible - as the others stare up at Jayne in disgust. "Aw, c'mon," Jayne drawls. "Y'all know we'll have alliance crawlin' up our ass once they find him."

"I ain't keepin' him on board," Mal says, and tries not to flinch when Inara turns her gaze on him. "Got no reason to, not this time. We change course to the nearest world and leave him for someone else to deal with."

"He's a _child_." Simon shrugs off Kaylee and stumbles forward, face screwed up in anger. "You can't just - there are traffickers everywhere."

"You sayin' you wanna invite the feds on board?" Mal asks him. "With River? Cause Jayne's right; they find the boy, they find you, too."

"Ah, hell, don't go twistin' it," Jayne whines. "Don't care 'bout them."

Simon glances back at the infirmary, then over to the cryo box, the boy still hiding, still crying. "It's not right," he says. "I'm a doctor, I can't just...I'm a _doctor_."

"Brother, too," Mal says. "So maybe it ain't right, but it's the way it is. River or the boy."

Kaylee lays a gentle hand on Simon's shoulder. He turns to her, and Mal watches something pass between them, a simple look that settles him, makes him deflate and say, solemn and pained, "We'll need to sedate him. I don't think he'll calm otherwise."

"Right. Well, you just tell me,"Mal begins, heading towards the infirmary, "what you need, and I'll - gorramit! Where in the-"

River, standing in the doorway - come from _nowhere_, like gorram always - and Mal has to will his heart to quit racing. "Still flyin', Captain," she says.

Mal tries for a smile, manages what feels like a grimace, says, "That we are, darlin'. Now, how 'bout you go back to-"

"Won't be, though," she says, and steps into the bay fully, pale feet poking out from under her moss green dress, toes brushing over the grating, and Mal takes a step back.

"Doc, you might wanna..." he says, and Simon rushes up to his sister, arms out to steer her back to the infirmary. She sidesteps, stares at Mal with vacant eyes.

"Going to drop, Mal. Going to stick. There's a sea and a sky and we can't get out."

He sighs, scratches his neck, arms covered in goose-flesh. Just once it'd be nice to get a pleasant kind of premonition. "Well, ain't that shiny," he says. "Think you could un-muddy them waters? Say when, exactly, we're gonna crash and die?"

River leans forward, frowns, says, "No," and turns her face up to the ceiling and laughs, pure and bright, and for a fleeting second Mal lets himself believe she's just an ordinary girl, not some harbinger of trouble. But the laughter stops and River stands perfectly still, asks, in someone else's voice - a voice that sparks a flame of fear right down in Mal's gut - "Did you really think you could run, dear?" And she laughs again; cold and mean, a sound that makes Mal want to either plug his ears up, or reach out and clamp a hand over her mouth, anything to not hear it.

And combined with the boy's whimpering - "Doc, if you don't quiet 'em down somehow..."

"I'm sorry. I don't know why she's acting like this," Simon says. "She was supposed to be sleeping. I gave her a mild sedative; it really should have worked by now."

He reaches for River again, tries to hold her shoulders, but she ducks away, still laughing. Kaylee approaches slowly, opposite to Simon, and together they try to corral her out of the bay, River twisting and turning away from their hands.

"Wait." River holds Kaylee back with a hand on her chest, cocks her head at her and asks, "Do you know how the light falls here?" She smiles, smoothes her hand down Kaylee's coverall, then digs her fingers in and tugs her close. "I'll show you," she says, low and teasing.

Kaylee freezes, dumbstruck and moon-eyed. River twists her mouth into a smirk, gives Kaylee a gentle shove, and..._shifts_, loses whoever she was, face going slack, then screwing up in confusion, and she mouths a word Mal can't read, something soft that sets a pretty curl to her lips and warms her eyes. She pushes Kaylee back, spins away, dress floating out in a spiral around her knees, races over to the cargo and clambers over the crates, squeezing into the gap next to the cryo box.

River crouches in front of the boy and Mal hears her whisper, "you're it", and the boy recoils, whips his head back so hard it rebounds off the side of the box. Mal braces himself for another ear piercing scream, waits for it to come, and -

- the boy smiles.

River reaches out and lays a hand on his head and Mal watches him _smile_, big grin of relief that stretches his tear streaked cheeks wide, and he rises up onto his knees, throws his arms around River's neck and starts sobbing again, saying over and over, "_She did it, she did it_," and that little flame in Mal's gut constricts then flares out, no longer fear but anger, coursing hot and quick through his veins.

Mal charges at Simon, balls his hand into a fist and takes a wild swing at the doctor's head, knocks him flat with a punch to the jaw. "_Hundan!_" Mal bellows. "Nee tzao se mah? You think you can lie to my gorram face?"

Simon groans, tries to roll onto his side. Mal pushes him back with his foot, presses his heel down hard on Simon's shoulder. "This how it's gonna be?" Mal asks. He draws his pistol, drops it on Simon's chest. "Take it. Take it and face me."

"Don't." Simon bats the gun away, sends it spinning across the floor. He coughs, turns his head and spits blood, wipes at the string of it hanging from his lips with a shaky hand, leaves a crimson smear across his chin. "Didn't know," he slurs. "I'm not - I'm not lying."

"River _knows_ him!" Mal roars. He lifts his foot away, leans down and grasps a handful of Simon's shirt, pulls him up so they're eye to eye and feels the seam give way, asks, "You tellin' me this is all a coincidence? Is that what you're saying?"

Simon opens his mouth to speak, winces, and shakes his head. Before he can say anything, the com crackles, and Wash's voice comes over, loud in the silence. "Mal? Need you on the bridge."

Mal lets go, says, "Don't move," and Simon collapses back on the floor, raises his hands and cradles his jaw with a moan.

"I got him, Mal," Jayne says, and Mal glances up to see him aiming his gun at Simon's head, a nasty grin on his face.

Mal nods, prods Simon's ribs with the toe of his boot. "You better think up a ruttin' good explanation, son, or so help me," he warns him, and leaves him laying there, fresh blood starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth. He strides over to the com by the bay door, hits it, says, "Can't it wait? Got a problem of my own to be dealin' with."

"Well mine's bigger," Wash says. "Okay, wait, did that sound - 'cause that's not how - although the Washburne's do have rep on some of the rim worl-_ow!_"

"Sir," Zoe cuts in, "someone's jettisoned the spare shuttle. They're docking their own right now."

"Who?" No real need to ask, Mal thinks, watching Inara trying to get in close enough to cover the boy with her shawl, but hope always is slow to die. "The folk from Three Hills?"

"See, that's the thing, Mal," Wash says. "Whoever it is got in without triggering the alarms, but the shuttle's a piece of feiwu. And _yellow_."

"Well that's just dumb," Jayne says. He props his foot up on the rail, unsheathes a knife from his boot. "Why'd you want everyone seein' where you're at?"

"Only one reason," Mal says, and he sighs, says into the com, "Be needin' you down here, Zoe."

"Already on her way," Wash says. "Need anythin' from me?"

"Just...keep us flyin'."

"Shi."

The com clicks, falls silent, and Mal becomes aware of how quiet the bay's become, everyone staring at him, even River and the boy.

"Cap'n?" Kaylee says, and she looks on the verge of tears, eyes already red-rimmed. "What's the reason? Why wouldn't they care 'bout bein' seen?"

Mal hesitates, considers the benefit of another lie. "You see where my gun went?" he asks, buying time. He scans the floor, spots a glint of steel near Inara's feet. "Never mind, I see it."

He goes to get it and Inara steps forward, blocking his way. "Mal," she says, voice flat. She crosses her arms, gazes at him with something akin to pity. "Answer her. Why won't they care?"

"'Cause they don't leave witnesses," Zoe calls. She hurries along the catwalk, rifle resting on her shoulder, and stands next to Jayne. And then she seems to reconsider her first statement, shrugs slightly. "Or they're stupid."

"She's right. And whichever it is," Mal says, "I'll be needing my gun."

Inara nods, picks it up and Mal avoids her eyes when she hands it to him, can't avoid the smell of sandalwood, or stop himself from wondering how long it'll take to fade from the ship. Probably won't be long before he finds out, not after all this, he supposes, taking a quick glance at Simon, who's climbing shakily to his feet. Although, seems Kaylee ain't so eager to come to his aid this time, standing back instead, lines of worry on her face.

Mal checks the gun's safety, runs up the stairs to join Zoe and Jayne on the catwalk. "You two, with me. The rest of you go."

"Captain, I really need to treat the-"

"_Now_," Mal snaps. He leans over the railing, looks Simon square in the eye. "I wasn't askin'. And until you convince me you ain't been lyin', you might want to think about doin' as I say. So you take River and the boy, and you stay on the bridge until the all-clear."

Simon nods, staggers over to the others and holds out a hand for River to hang on to as she climbs over the cargo. Inara and Kaylee help the boy, Inara wrapping her shawl around him tight so it doesn't fall, and Mal takes another look around. "Gorramit, wait. Kaylee, where's Book?"

"The kitchen," she says, "fixin' dinner, I think."

"Okay, take this," Mal says, tossing his gun down. She catches it with a slight fumble, stares up at him wide-eyed. "Give it Book, and shut yourselves in the engine room. Dong-ma?"

"Uh-huh. Okay, Cap'n." She nods, takes off at a run to the infirmary.

"Maybe I should go, too, Sir," Zoe says. "Just in case? Seems odd he never heard the commotion."

"_Hundan_," Mal curses. He gestures for Zoe to go and she races after Kaylee. "Didn't even think. Gettin' old."

"Should retire," Jayne says, "'fore you get us all dead."

"Chufei wo si le."

"Rut it, Mal. Won't be long, you keep on like this."

Mal waits while Inara and Simon hustle River and the child up the stairs and out of sight, no one but him and Jayne left in the bay, then turns to Jayne and says, "Don't think I've forgotten who loaded that box. Now give me a gun."

Jayne glowers a him, pulls another pistol from the back of his waistband, weighs them up, hands the smaller one over with a sigh. "You reckon it's another one of them that came for the girl?" he asks.

"Bounty hunter? More'n likely," Mal says, and checks the gun over as they make their way to the shuttle access. He aims it at the door, gets ready to call out a warning just as the it slides open.

A quick flash of cold blue metal and a pale hand, and before Mal can even blink a revolver comes skittering to a stop by his feet. The door snicks shut and whoever's on the other side calls out, "_I'm unarmed - don't shoot!_"

"It's a gorram girl?" Jayne says, and his gun wavers. "What do we do?"

Mal does a double take, says, "You joking?"

"You forgettin' your wife?"

"Why the gorram does everyone - ta ma de, it don't matter," Mal says, thumbs back the hammer of his gun. "We fight. Same as always."

"_You know I can hear you, right?_" the intruder calls. "_Don't shoot, okay? I'm coming out._"

"Hands where I can see 'em," Mal shouts, and the door slides open again.

The girl - woman, Mal amends, maybe Kaylee's age or a mite older - sidles out, hands above her head, and turns slowly, faces them, doesn't even blink when they step forward, level their guns at her.

"Said I'm unarmed," she mutters testily.

"You're on _my ship_," Mal retorts. "Who are you?"

"Swan," she says, and Mal sizes her up, considers his options. She doesn't look like much; lean bodied, long blond hair, pallid skin, and dressed in long black boots, tight black pants, and - "Gorram; is it a uniform?"

"What? I don't-"

"Some kinda rule," Jayne asks, "all bounty hunters gotta wear red?"

The woman looks down at her leather jacket and scowls. "_No_. Wait, what? How do you know what I do?"

"So you _are_ a bounty hunter," Mal says.

"Yeah, but - but I'm not collecting."

Mal looks her over again, at her clothes too tight to conceal any weapons, her skin so sickly white it's almost translucent, at the revolver laying by his feet, and frowns, says, "You're on my ship. Why are you my gorram ship?"

Swan licks her lips, lowers her hands. "You have - there's something of mine here, and I - gorramit," she snaps. "He didn't plan this far."

"Who?" Mal darts forward, aims his gun at the woman's forehead. "There someone else here?" he asks. "Someone else on that shuttle?"

"_No_. No-one," she says, inching backwards. "It's not what you - _ta ma de_."

He almost doesn't need to look. Swan stops dead, nothing but shock all over her face, and Mal knows what he's going to see even before he turns around. Of course it's the boy. And with the bounty hunter here to collect, although not quite in the way they'd all thought.

"He's yours," Mal says, and Jayne grunts a curse.

"Henry." Swan nods, takes a hesitant step towards Mal. He gestures her forward with the barrel of his gun and she stands next to him, leans heavily on the catwalk rail. "His name's Henry."

"_Mom!_"

Swan flinches at his cry, says, "He's...he's my kid," and the boy comes running, red silk streaming out behind him like a comet tail. She staggers back as he barrels into her, holds on tight to her waist, and gorram if it ain't a strange sight watching a bounty hunter panic in the face of a child.

Mal watches Swan shrink back, raise trembling hands as if to push the boy away, and then stop, slowly lower them and thread her fingers through his hair, and all he can think, listening to her low constant murmur of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry", is _who for?_

And when she fixes him with a stare, eyes full of fear, he gets his answer.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Translations -

BOHICA - (military slang) bend over, here it comes again  
ta ma de - damn it  
ben tian sheng de yi dui rou - stupid inbred sack of meat  
Tyen-sah - goddamn  
buhn dahn - idiot  
Zaogao - crap/damn  
hundan - jerk/asshole  
shi - affirmative/yes  
Cai bu shi - no way  
Nee tzao se mah? - you wanna die?  
Feiwu - garbage  
Dong-ma? - understand?  
Chufei wo si le - over my dead body


End file.
